


Lucky Ones

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Scar Porn, Newly established relationship, SO MUCH FLUFF, Scar porn, Scars, skoulsonfest2k14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Skoulsonfest2k14 Day 5 Prompt "Scars." New relationship fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Ones

“Hey,” Skye’s head pokes into his office on the Bus, almost uncharacteristically shy. She hasn’t been so careful about entering his office since the first weeks she had been on the Bus.

But this thing between them is still so very new, just a few barely-defined kisses, and the awkwardness hasn’t faded, yet.

“Hi.” He smiles at her, silently welcoming her in, and she takes the invitation. This office hardly feels like his own anymore — for one thing, it’s relatively barren, since he’s transferred everything to the Playground, but more than that is that Skye’s office isn’t attached. Still, though, it’s a space where he and Skye spent a lot of time together last year, and it makes the palpable change between them more noticeable.

His eyes slide down her body, tight jeans and a purple top that clings to the curves of her breasts and her waist and her hips. He’s definitely looking at her in a way he has restrained himself from doing for a year and a half. _Enjoying_ looking in a way he has restrained himself from doing. But it’s okay now.

“You’re not busy, are you?”

She’s just returned from a mission with Trip, and while he’d greeted her (greeted both of them), they haven’t gotten a chance to be alone.

“Never too busy for you,” he answers. Which would have been his answer before they kissed, too. Perhaps not worded exactly like that, but still.

“I…”

He watches Skye look awkward for another moment before rolling her eyes at herself and striding back behind his desk. Awkwardness is replaced by purpose as she insinuates herself between his desk and his chair and raises her eyebrows half-questioningly.

Coulson immediately rolls backwards, allowing Skye room to straddle him, fitting her knees almost precariously on either side of his thighs. Her lips meet his instantly, and he smiles against her as he returns the kiss, running his hands up her back under her shirt.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week,” she whispers between kisses, pressing her hands into his shoulders and rising over him, her tongue flicking against his lower lip as she moves.

“Me, too,” he answers. “Yesterday was too long. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The words make Skye shiver against him before she pulls back, smirk firmly in place. She lets her left hand stroke the side of his face while the other slides down his tie and rests at his belt buckle. The pressure there is maddening, tingling tightness in his lower belly, and he can’t help thrusting up towards her hand, trying to get more contact.

Coulson reaches forward and cups her cheeks, pulling her back into a kiss even as he starts to shift them out of the chair. Skye’s lips eventually fall away from his as he stands and guides her back to sit on his desk, and his mouth drifts to her neck as her hands clutch at his lower back, pulling his shirt free so she can touch the skin underneath.

“I want to kiss every part of your body,” he mumbles into her neck.

She laughs, a lower sound than she usually makes, when he kisses her collarbone, and he runs his tongue down her clavicle, marking a path to her cleavage. It’s when his hands slide under her shirt, wanting to pull it up to grant him better access, that she stops him, making a point of holding her shirt down so it covers her stomach.

Coulson manages to pull his mouth off of her and meets her eyes, worried.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answers. Rolls her eyes. “I just…”

Skye clears her throat and looks down.

“Hey,” he tries again. “There’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful.”

“Well you haven’t seen the scars,” she snaps back. She’s trying to make it sound like a joke, but he can tell how deeply she’s bothered.

Instead of answering, he draws her hand over his heart and presses it there.

“I haven’t seen _your_ scars,” he stresses, and Skye looks up at him with wide, watery eyes. She looks _so young_ , he realizes at that moment, and the truth is that he hasn’t exactly gotten over how young she is. Mostly, it’s that he knows how this looks from the outside — knows _exactly_ how this looks from the outside. But he also knows better than most anyone that how something looks from outside says very little about how it really is.

Skye’s right hand scrambles under his shirt, pushes up his chest until she can lay her palm flat over his scar, still hidden by his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to —”

“You didn’t,” he cuts her off.

Coulson slides a hand under her chin and runs his thumb along her jaw as he leans in to kiss her again, softer this time. When he pulls back, Skye reaches down and starts to roll her shirt up over her stomach, but he places a gentle hand over hers.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she smiles slightly, looks almost embarrassed. “I want to, though.”

His hands run down her body as she lifts her shirt, slide over her stomach as she reveals it, and then he pulls back and sits down in his chair, bringing him to face level with her abdomen.

The scars are dark pink, puckered, rough patches on her otherwise flat, smooth skin. Not ugly, except as a reminder of _why_ they are there — a reminder of something ugly that happened. On her, though, they serve more as a reminder that she is _still with him_. She could be dead, but she is not. They could  _both_ be dead, but they are not.

He presses his lips into the exposed flesh, starting with the perfectly smooth skin to the lower right of her belly button and moving towards the scars on her upper belly. Her abdomen tightens, muscles contracting hard against his mouth, and he pauses, looks up at her.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No,” she whispers.

Coulson’s lips return to her skin, then, pressing kisses to her scars. One of his deepest regrets in everything that’s happened in the past year is that Skye came so close to death, that he injected her with an unknown medication.

He can’t regret that she’s alive, though, especially not when his lips are pressed against her; he’s so in awe of her, of her strength and resilience, of her body and her mind and her spirit. He wonders if she knows how much she has kept him going.

His tongue circles the area where a bullet tore through her, and she sucks in a harsh breath, shuddering above him. Their eyes meet, though he doesn’t remove his mouth from her.

“Okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she answers, voice a little too adamant, and she raises a hand to swipe at tears in her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against her skin. She _is_ beautiful — no scars on her body could stop that — but even more than that is that no one with Skye’s brain and Skye’s heart and Skye’s way of seeing the world could ever be anything _but_ beautiful. Still, she rolls her eyes at the words, even as she wipes away more tears.

Her hands land on his head, then, fingernails scratching through short hair and sending shivers down his spine. He can’t hold back a quiet moan, a hot exhale of breath against her skin, and she repeats the motion.

“That feels so good,” he whispers against her bellybutton, and Skye lets out a half-laugh.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Her sarcasm is gentle, and accompanied by her nails moving in soft circular patterns across his scalp. It feels so good that he loses concentration on anything else and drops his head down so his forehead rests on her denim-covered thigh.

When her hands finally still, Coulson’s neck feels too limp to support the weight of his head, so he just rolls his face along her thigh, dragging his cheek down to her knee and then back up. He can only wish her leg was bare, and quickly finds the idea taking up residence.

“Wear a dress tonight,” he tells her, more than asks. “A short one.”

Skye laughs.

“And where will I be wearing this dress?”

“Dinner,” he answers. “I know a great little place in Banff. From where we’re landing, it’s probably only half an hour flight in Lola.”

“Is there anywhere in the world where you _don’t_ know a great little place?”

“Hmm,” he considers, rubbing his cheek along her thigh. “I’m not terribly familiar with most of the southern United States.”

“Oh, well I know a lot of great little places there,” Skye promises. She returns her fingers to his scalp, scratching gently through his hair. “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“Yes,” he tells her. “You will.”

They make eye contact from where his cheek is still pressed to her thigh — tiny, knowing smiles at this _thing_ between them, at the way that the awkwardness from before is gone, leaving behind this moment of peace and comfort. There’s more to be discussed, more to be shared, but it’s a good start.

  
  



End file.
